


Baby Teeth

by orphan_account



Category: South Park
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-12
Updated: 2017-07-12
Packaged: 2018-12-01 01:53:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11476131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: He’s free.He’s finally free.





	Baby Teeth

**Author's Note:**

> this fic contains an abusive relationship be careful loves

 

…

It’s a rare day when Eric lets him out of the house and it’s those days Butters cherishes fondly. He’s usually only allowed out to buy groceries—a task Eric himself is too lazy to perform—or to pick up beer at a gas station. He’s never allowed to take the car; Butters wonders if it’s because Eric fears he’ll leave him. Butter wonders if he had a set of tires and a stronger back bone if he really would.

Traveling by foot wears on Butters’ heels and his body, he heaves out a heavy sigh, fidgeting nervously in the grocery aisle.

Eric likes to call him dumb and maybe he is, because he can’t even remember Eric’s favorite brand of cookies. Is it double stuffed Oreos or Chips Ahoy? Maybe it’s both. To be safe Butters places them both in the cart, neatly stacking them in the corner. Eric won’t be angered by this, he has a love of food and it shows. Although Butters supposes he isn’t one to talk. He snacks nervously when Eric is away on business trips and his body is paying the price. He’s thicker than he was a few years ago, much to Eric’s disgust.

He really should start dieting. He pinches his arm, frowning at its plumpness. Eric is beginning to find him unattractive. Butters’ doesn’t want his attentions to stray any more than they already have.

“Butters?” A voice pulls Butters’ from his thoughts and he turns sharply, biting at his lip.

Kenny McCormick stands in the aisle, an empty shopping basket hanging from his tanned arm, a smile on his thin lips. He filled out since high school, in a good way. He’s no longer an undernourished skinny boy. He’s grown lean, tall, handsome, and toned with muscular arms and a square jaw. Butters flushes and scolds himself. He shouldn’t be thinking in such a way. He’s a taken man.

While Kenny flourished in the last ten years, Butters feels as if he’s withered. Not only has he grown chubbier, but lack of sunlight and constant time inside Eric’s apartment caused his skin to pale. And he no longer had access to nice clothes. Eric only allows him to wear oversized t-shirts and gray sweatpants—so Butters won’t attract unwanted attention or new admirers. He is Eric’s after all, and only Eric’s to be looked at and touched.

In high school Butters had a crush on Kenny. Kenny was kind to him unlike the other kids. He didn’t speak to Butters often and they didn’t hang out a lot past middle school. Still he always smiled at Butters in the hallway and helped Butters pick up his books when kids tripped him. But after the last day of high school Kenny left town and never came back.

Butters fights the urge to speak, clenching and unclenching his fists on the cart handle. Eric said he isn’t allowed to speak to anyone without his permission but Butters thinks this one time is worth breaking that rule. How often did someone meet up with their high school crush? And there isn’t a chance Eric will find out, right? (Although Butters does sometimes fear Eric has cameras watching him everywhere.)

“Ken, I ain’t seen you in years,” It hurts to speak the words. The heart ache from years ago coming back fresh. Butters had fallen asleep crying for a week straight after he found out Kenny left, had gnawed his nails down to bloody stubs. He waited for Kenny to return, checked in with Karen for any news, but after months of nothing, months of Eric whispering falsely sweet comforts in his ear, he had fallen into Eric’s arms. Desperate to feel something. It was probably the worst mistake of his life.

“Yeah, I kinda disappeared out of nowhere didn’t I?” Maybe Kenny’s disappearance shouldn’t have been such a surprise, it was a trait of the McCormick men to leave . Kenny’s father left and Kevin too, perhaps Butters should’ve expected it. It still didn’t change the fact that that it hit Butters hard. But unlike his father or his brother, Kenny came back. Butters knows it’s because Kenny has a very good and true soul. He always has.

“O-oh, yes.”

“I couldn’t stay here any longer.”

 “Where did you go?” Butters hopes it isn’t too forward to ask. Eric would’ve slapped him for such a question but Kenny isn’t that sort of man. It’s that reassurance that gives Butters the strength to speak freely.

It still hurts to think that Kenny left without saying goodbye. But he can fully understand Kenny’s need to flee South Park, it’s a toxic place. He envies Kenny’s strength and tenacity, at eighteen able to seek freedom.  Butters sought release from his father’s house, cruel words, and belt and ended up living with another monster.

“I drove around for a while and believe it or not I ended up in Maine.”

“Gosh! Maine? Why would you wanna go there?”

Kenny laughs and Butters fidgets. “I don’t know. Once I got there, it’s stupid but the snow and the pine trees reminded me of home. I thought I’d only stay for a while, but before I knew it I had an apartment, a part time job, and I was going to nursing school. Ended up getting a job as a nurse at a hospital.”

“Oh, gee that’s great, Ken!” A job helping people, Butters couldn’t imagine something more fitting for Kenny. “What brings you back n-now?”

“Vacation time. I try to come here at least once a year to visit mom and Karen. What about you? Karen says she hasn’t seen you around in years.”

Shame bubbles up in Butters’ chest and he swallows it down, feeling dizzy. He knew questions like this one were coming, but he hoped to avoid them. There isn’t much to say, in the last ten years he’s done nothing but take care of Eric. “Oh, I-I’ve been here. Uh…housekeeping?”

Suspicion weaves its way across Kenny’s face. Butters fears for a moment more questions are coming. But Kenny only offers him a sweet smile, one that causes Butters’ heart to beat wildly. “I have to get going, I told Karen I’d be at her house by noon and I’m already late. I’m here for the next three days. We should catch up or get dinner.”

“Of course,” Butters says, knowing Eric will never allow it.

Kenny reaches into his jean pocket and pulls out an old receipt and pen. Butters watches Kenny’s long fingers work as he writes and imagines how good they’d feel on his skin. He quickly suppresses the thought. He can’t afford to think such things.

“Here’s my cell. Call me when you want to meet up,” Kenny hands the paper to Butters, their hands brushing.

Butters rubs at where their hands touched, watching as Kenny walks out of the aisle. His skin feels hot and he hopes his blush isn’t too noticeable. The note is heavy in his palm. He memorizes the numbers, the sweeping sloppy swirl of them. He won’t be able to call. He doesn’t have a cellphone, they don’t have a house phone, and he isn’t allowed to use Eric’s phone. But the numbers are a piece of Kenny, a part Butters wants to carry with him, a small reminder that not everything is cold and hurtful. Something to keep him warm on his harshest days.

As he’s leaving the grocery store he tosses the note in the trash, he can’t leave any evidence Eric can see.

…

When he gets home he unpacks the groceries, stacks them away neatly the way Eric likes. Eric likes the house to be spotless, so Butters scrubs the floor of their apartment until his hands are chapped and sore. He vacuums their bedroom, makes their bed, and folds Eric’s laundry. There isn’t much for him to do besides clean and he works hard to make sure the home is up to Eric’s standards. Although Eric always tells him their home looks like a pigpen, that Butters sits on his ass and does nothing all day. Sometimes Butters sits down to watch a half hour of TV. He supposes if he has time to sit he isn’t working hard enough.

He starts cleaning the bathroom and tries not to think about Kenny as he scrubs the sink, but meaningless tasks allow his mind too much time to wander. And thoughts of sucking Kenny’s dick are a lot more pleasant than thinking of jumping off of his and Eric’s six floor balcony or if Eric is going to hit him tonight.

He makes dinner once he’s finished cleaning, breaded chicken breasts and baked potatoes in the oven. Butters would love to cook some vegetables, steamed broccoli or frozen peas, but Eric hates vegetables so Butters doesn’t buy or cook them.

While he’s waiting for Eric to get home and dinner to finish, he dusts the curtains.

Eric gets home after six, as he barrels through the door Butters helps him remove his coat. He bends down to untie Eric’s shoes and pull them off. Butters doesn’t ask Eric how his day was, it would be a mistake if he did. He doesn’t even know where Eric works or where he goes when he leaves for week long business trips. He tried asking once and Eric hit him so hard his eye was swollen shut for a week. He learned his lesson and never asked again.

Eric’s meaty fingers grip Butters’ hair, forcing him to stay down on his knees. He liked to force dominance over Butters whenever he could, “What’s for dinner?”

“Chicken and potatoes,” Butters says, studying a crack in the tiled floor.

“Chicken is all you fucking cook. Can’t you fucking make something else?”

It isn’t really true, last night he cooked roast beef. But Butters’ doesn’t say this, knowing it will only earn him Eric’s angry words and fists. “I-I’m real sorry, Eric. I’ll cook pork chops tomorrow.”

“Damn fucking straight your will,” Eric lets him go, sauntering over to the couch and plopping his large body down.

Butters stays kneeling on the ground, studying his reflection in the shiny floor tiles. He looks tired, sad, and worn out. Dark circles marring the skin beneath his eyes.

If someone were to ask him why he doesn’t leave Eric, the answer would be simple. He has nowhere to go. His parents disowned him after they found out he was gay. He has no friends left in South Park and even if he did, Eric would eventually find him at their house. When he did he’d make sure Butters knew never to leave again.

He stands and walks into the kitchen, listening to the sound of Eric arguing with the news echoing from the other room. It sets Butters on edge, makes his stomach twist. Eric is in a particularly bad mood and Butters senses this night will be more difficult than others.

He checks the chicken and potatoes in the oven, deeming them done he pulls them out and portions them onto two plates. He fills Eric’s plate with a hefty amount of two breast and two potatoes. And his own plate with the small amount of a half of each. Eric wants him to watch what he eats.

He brings Eric his plate and sits at the dining room table by himself, pushing the food around with his fork. He doesn’t really have an appetite tonight.

“This chicken taste like shit, Butters.”

Eric says things like this at every meal, but it stings even more than it usually does tonight, Butters’ throat tightening with it. Maybe it’s because he keeps thinking about the way Kenny used to smile at him, and the way he smiled at him today. It had been so long since someone said nice things to him. He must be starving for it.

“I’m sorry, Eric. I’ll do better next time,” Butters doesn’t think the chicken taste bad. It’s a little overcooked but nothing terrible.

After they’ve finished eating, Butters washes the dishes by hand. They have a dish washer, but Eric calls Butters lazy and a whole ton of others names if he uses it.

Once the dishes are dried and put away, Butters showers, scrubs his skin pink and raw, so he’s clean and sweet smelling for Eric.

He lays down in bed, naked under the covers—the way Eric likes him to be—and dozes off, focusing on the calming, steady sound of his own breathing. He wakes a few hours later under the heavy weight of Eric’s body, as Eric slides into him. He winces against the stretch of Eric’s dick pushing into his barely prepared body. Eric preferred a little bit of spit to lube. Butters thinks it’s because he’s fond of the pain it causes him. It doesn’t take Eric long to finish just a few quick thrusts and he’s spilling his seed. Groaning and biting down hard on Butters’ neck as he comes.

Butters grits his teeth and closes his eyes through it, imagining he’s somewhere else. He doesn’t even get hard through the encounter. He is glad Eric doesn’t slap him for it this time. Pride is a very important thing for Eric, and it’s easily wounded when Butters’ dick doesn’t even twitch in interest for him. When they first started dating it did, Butters even used to come for him. But Eric doesn’t put much effort into making sex enjoyable for him anymore.

…

Once Butters is sure Eric is asleep, he shimmies out from underneath the suffocating weight of Eric’s body. He heads to the bathroom and wets a washcloth wiping Eric’s cum from his legs. He hates it, how used it makes him feel, like he’s nothing more than a hole for Eric to fuck.  Maybe he is.

Butters slaps his cheeks and frowns, he won’t allow himself to fall into a self-pitying party. Eric needs him and he needs Eric.

He checks his throat in the mirror. The skin where Eric bit him is red and purple, a few teeth even managing to draw blood. It hurts but it’s not the worst thing Eric has ever done and by now Butters is used to the pain.  He cleans it with peroxide and treats it with some antibiotic lotion. If Eric allows him out of the house he’ll have to wear a turtle neck to hide it. He’s gotten use to hiding the bruises Eric gives him. He has a bag full of different cover-ups.

He dresses in a big sweater and sweat pants and lies down on the couch, staring up at the ceiling. He doesn’t turn on the TV, not wanting to wake Eric. He repeats Kenny’s number in his head like a mantra and thinks of the way Kenny smelled. A hint of sweat, cigarette smoke, and something spicy. He thinks of Kenny’s wheat colored hair, how slick and nice it was, although a little on the long side. And how the skin around Kenny’s eyes crinkled when he smiled. Maybe his crush for Kenny never faded. Butters is sure it hasn’t, he still gets warm and giddy when thoughts of Kenny cross his mind.

Tomorrow he’ll find a way to call Kenny, he has to. A chance like this can’t be lost and what Eric doesn’t know can’t hurt him.

He falls asleep pondering what Kenny’s lips taste like.

 

He makes Eric breakfast before work, three fried eggs, four pieces of toast and bacon. Eric swallows it all like a vacuum, leaving his dirty plate on the living room floor as he gets up to brush his teeth. Butters picks it up and washes it, sighing as Eric leaves without a goodbye. If Eric at least kissed his cheek or said _I love you_ , it’d make things easier. But Eric wasn’t into kisses or expressing his feelings. However, Butters is sure Eric loves him in his own perverse way or he wouldn’t have kept Butters around for so long.

He doesn’t eat breakfast, his stomach too tense with nerves. Eric is perceptive and Butters is glad he didn’t catch onto Butters’ tension. Maybe it’s because Eric doesn’t pay him much attention outside of sex and complaining.

Leaving on the pants he slept in, Butters pulls off his dirty sweater and yanks on a turtle neck, making sure it covers the wound on his neck. He slips on a pair of boots, pressing his sweaty palms together. This is the first time in a long while he’s gone out without Eric’s permission. It’s terrifying being disobedient and even more terrifying to think Eric might catch him. Although the chance is slim, Eric rarely comes home from work early. As long as Butters is home by six, he hopes he’ll be fine.

Butters winds a scarf around his neck, pulls a knit hat over his hair, and slides on a pair of sunglasses. Just in case someone Eric knows catches him, he wants to hide his identity and face as much as possible. He can’t have news that he left get back to Eric.  He doesn’t know what will happen if it does.

Steadying his breathing, Butters anxiously opens the door knob, his fingers quivering. Hesitantly he steps out into the apartment complex hallway, his head light. The walls are too tight, the hallway too small—confining. Butters’ lungs scream out for air, his heart ramming hard against his ribs. He darts outside, afraid his mind will get the best of him and he’ll return into the _‘safety’_ and certainty of their apartment.

The cool spring air tickles his cheeks and helps soothe his fearful shaking.

It takes him an hour to walk to the gas station. It’s an old broken building, if Butters didn’t know it was open, he would’ve guessed it had been long abandoned. A pay phone stills stands at the building’s side. Butters wants to kiss the elderly owner and thank him for holding on to such a relic.  

He pops a few quarters into the phone, dials Kenny’s number and waits.

After a few moments Kenny picks up, “Hello?”

Butters contemplates hanging up. But he worked up the courage to sneak out, he has to have the courage to speak to Kenny. This dangerous trip can’t be for nothing. Eric is allowed constant indulgence and Butters thinks he deserves this one small treat. “Ken, It’s Butters.”

“Hey man, I was waiting for you to call.”

Butters taps his toes against the chipped concrete sidewalk, overwhelmed. Someone is looking forward to talking to him. “I was wondering where you’re staying while you’re back visiting?”

“At my old house,” Kenny voice is like a forbidden fruit, Butters greedily drinks it up. It’s sweet, deep, and roughened by the use of tobacco.

“Could I maybe stop by f-for a visit?”

“Yeah, of course. Do you need a ride?”

“No, I can walk.”

…

By the time he reaches Kenny’s house he’s a mess of terror, anxiety, and irrational thoughts. Any calmness he had previously held onto is completely gone. Every person he passed on the street he viewed as a threat. Did they know Eric? Were they someone Eric sent to watch over him? Would they report his outing to Eric? Would Eric kill him for it?

If Eric does kill him, at least he gets to see Kenny for the day.

He puts on a smile and knocks on Kenny’s door. Kenny can’t see him panicking, he doesn’t want him to worry.

There is a cacophony of shuffling feet, followed by Kenny pulling the door open. His cheeks pink and hair freshly wet from a shower.

He looks like Christmas morning, the first dandelion in spring, or a rainbow after a long thunderstorm. He looks like all good things in the world. Butters is weakened by it.

“Look at you,” Kenny grins, looking Butters up and down, “all bundled up.”

“Well, I get cold real easy.” Butters lies. He touches his scarf before bumping his knuckles together. It’s a habit he’s never been able to break. Although around Eric he tries not to do it. If Eric catches him with his knuckles pressed together he slaps Butters’ arm hard and tells him not to be such a baby.

“Well it’s nice and warm inside,” Kenny says, motioning for Butters to step in. He does and Kenny shuts the door behind him.

He sighs happily. It is warm and smells like wood smoke and Kenny’s soap.

The home is different than it was when they were children. Less dilapidated and more welcoming. The walls painted and the furniture new (Butters guesses thrifted.) The most important addition to the home Butters sees is a small wood stove, installed in the corner of the living room. Butters squeaks excitedly, pulling off his hat, scarf and sunglasses, and neatly placing them on the coffee table. He skips over, sitting on the old rug in front of the stove.

He holds his hands out to the heat, smiling. He loves fires. They remind him of making hot cocoa and roasting marshmallows. Or snuggles under a blanket with someone he loved. But Butters really isn’t allowed any of those things and thinking of them brings a twinge of sadness.

 Butters sighs, less enthusiastic this time.

“You alright?” Kenny asks, sitting at his side. He studies Butters like he’s an equation to solve.

Butters mentally berates himself for letting any sign of his melancholy show. “Oh, yes! I’m warm and comfy!”

It must have been the wrong thing to say because Kenny’s looking at him all concerned now. Like Butters has grown two heads or he’s a little lost puppy. In high school he looked at Butters like that a lot. Maybe he’s always seen through Butters’ façade. Butters often wonders how many people do, if everyone knows his positive smile is just a brave face, that he really is just scared and alone. If they knew his father hit him and know his lover hits him just by looking at him.

Butters quickly breaks the silence, uncomfortable in his own skin. “Golly, Ken, this wood stove sure is nice. How long has your mom had it?”

“She bought it a few years ago. She’s been trying hard to make things better.”

“She still working at the Olive Garden?” That was over ten years ago, but it was the last place Butters knows she worked at. He doesn’t know much about South Park anymore. He’s an outsider, isolated and hidden away in Eric’s apartment. He doesn’t even know if his parents live in South Park anymore. Honestly, he couldn’t care either way.

Kenny laughs, the good sort of laugh that isn’t at Butters’ expense. “Actually she is. But she doesn’t wash dishes any more, she’s a waitress.”

“You seem real proud of her,” Butters says, noticing the gleam in Kenny’s eye and the way his lips quirk as he speaks.

“I am,” Kenny says, laying back. He looks up at Butters, reaches out and runs a cool finger over Butters’ round cheek.

“What?” Butters asks, worried he may still have the hints of a bruise on his cheek from when Eric slapped him for spilling a cup of water last week.

“You just look really cute,” Kenny runs his thumb over the curve of Butters’ ear, a dreamy smile on his face.

Butters is sure he turns as red as a tomato. When he was in middle school he used to imagine Kenny saying similar things, but he’s not sure he believes it. Kenny would never tell him he looks terrible, he’s too nice. But Butters know he does, Eric tells him every day. He’s overweight, clumsy, and too stupid. “That’s sweet of ya’, Ken, but I’m just the dowdiest thing.”

Kenny sits up again, brows furrowed, but he keeps Butters’ face cupped in his palm like it’s a precious treasure. “You don’t even realize how fucking attractive you are, do you? Fuck, man, when we were in high school I used to jerk off thinking about you in your gym shorts. They were so fucking short and hugged your thick ass perfectly. When you’d bend over to pick up something in class, I almost popped a boner every time.”

“Oh—“ Butters says, knowing he should feel giddy but somehow he just feels like crying. Kenny at least had some form of interest in him when they were younger, if Butters had told him he loved him back then maybe things would have been different. Maybe he would have left South Park with Kenny and lived happily with him by the ocean in Maine. He had been planning to confess his love at their graduation ceremony—he’d spent weeks working up the nerve—but Kenny left before he even had the chance. “How come you never told me you thought about me that way?”

“I didn’t think I was good enough for you. I smoked pot and got in trouble in school. You were an A plus student and as innocent and good as an angel.”

Butters had never felt very good, his dad was always telling him how bad he was. And after his uncle started touching him in elementary school he never felt very innocent.

He grips Kenny’s wide shoulders in his small hands, “Oh, Ken, you were more than good enough for me! Gosh, I couldn’t have cared less if you were homeless because of a crack addiction, I still would’ve wanted to be with you! If anyone wasn’t good enough it was me!”

“I’ve bettered myself now but ten years ago you were like an unreachable princess to me.”

“Oh, Ken,” Butters whispers, scooting between Kenny’s thin thighs. “You were always a knight in shining armor!!  And I ain’t no innocent princess. I…ah…I used to touch myself and think about you too.”

”Yeah?” Kenny leans forward with interest, his breath ghosting Butters’ lips, bitter with the scent of cigarette smoke. He lowers his eyes, observing Butters through his blonde lashes. “What did you think about?”

Butters skin is hot, his mind fuzzy. He has the decency to feel embarrassed “I-I thought about how your nose gets freckles in the summer. The way the muscles of your back moved beneath your t-shirt. How sweaty you smelled after gym class. How your lips looked curved around a cigarette. And golly, your long fingers and how good they’d feel s-spreading me open.”

Kenny closes the gap between them, his lips covering Butters’. Butters is sure this must be some dream, that he’ll wake up in Eric’s bed, under Eric’s weight because Kenny’s lips feel just like he thought they would. Chapped and pleasant. His fists his fingers in Kenny’s shirt, drawing Kenny near, their bodies not close enough. He parts his lips, allowing Kenny access. Kenny’s tongue greedily slips in, tracing Butters’ teeth and the roof of his mouth. He slides a knee between Butters’ legs and presses Butters to the ground. Butters goes easily, falling back against the carpet with a moan, opening his legs wide for Kenny.

Kenny settles between Butters’ plump thighs, runs his hand up their length, cupping Butters’ ass. He breaks their kiss, resting on his elbows. When Kenny speaks, his voice is thickened with arousal. “Just think, all these years we could’ve been fucking like rabbits.”

Feeling rather brave, Butters murmurs, “We s-should make up for lost time.”

He didn’t come here to have sex with Kenny, he just wanted to talk. But he needs this, a chance to feel wanted and cherished. Kenny is doing that right now, whispering sweet little things in his ear, as his hand slips under Butters’ shirt, cupping the curve of Butters’ breasts.

Eric’s touch is only ever demeaning, there is nothing demeaning in the slide of Kenny’s fingertips over his skin.

“Fuck, you’ve got little tits,” Kenny moans out, capturing Butters’ lips again.  Kenny doesn’t say it in a cruel way, like Eric would. Eric frequently mocked him for his weight gain, called him a chick because along with the addition of his chubby belly, he gained curvy thighs and boobs. Eric liked to twist his nipples cruelly and laugh. If anything Kenny sounds pleased, considering his love of all things boob related Butters thinks he must.

“Y-you can look at them if you wanna,” Butters says, perhaps a little shyly for the situation. He’s lacking self-esteem, not exactly confident or happy with how his body looks. But at least Kenny likes it so far. If Kenny likes it, there must be something good about.

“Baby, I’d love to,” Kenny grins, kissing the rounded tip of Butters’ button nose. He pulls Butters’ turtle neck over his tubby tummy, chest, and head. Butters shimmies out of it, tossing it to the side. He resists the urge to fold it neatly and place it on the table next to his scarf.

The carpet is itchy against his newly bared skin, he wiggles under Kenny’s gaze and the fabric’s rough texture.

“What happened here?” Kenny questions, suddenly very serious. He thumbs Butters’ naked neck, beneath the bite mark Eric gave him. There is no judgment in his face, only concern.

Butters so caught up in Kenny’s touch, had forgotten about the wound. Quickly he slaps his hand over it, hiding the livid skin. Vulnerability washes over him, the type that comes from knowing he let someone hurt him and didn’t do anything about it. Vulnerable, because now Kenny knows this too.

“Sometimes me an’ my b-boyfriend, we like it rough,” Butters say, trying to hide his humiliation. Kenny’s brows raise at the word boyfriend but his face remains skeptical. “Well, my boyfriend likes it rough.”

If Butters could have sex they way he’d like it, it would involve a lot less shame and pain. There’d be plenty of kisses, petting, cuddles, and awkward laughs. With Eric, Butters can have none of those things. With Kenny maybe he can have them all.

Kenny traces the bite with his lips, his kisses like a salve. Butters whimpers, “P-please don’t leave any marks.”

There can’t any evidence. Nothing Eric can see.

“I won’t. Sweetie, I’ll be gentle.”

He tentatively meets Kenny’s lips, purring contentedly. He likes Kenny calling him sweetie and baby. Compared to Eric’s usual slut and whore, it’s a stark contrast.  Eric makes him think he’s dirt, to be stepped on and thrown away. Kenny makes him think he’s something prized, to be coddled and cared for.

Kenny lips make their way down Butters’ jaw, his throat, over the bones of his collar, and between his two small breasts. He cups Butters’ breast, pushing up and testing its weight.

Butters is afraid he’ll pass out. He’s always been sensitive to touch but it’s been so long since someone paid him this sort of attention. Each cell in his body screams out in simultaneous pleasure beneath Kenny’s fingertips. He’s already embarrassingly hard and leaking in his boxer, all from a few kisses.

“I bet I could make you come just from this?” Kenny questions, thumbing the rosy tip of Butters’ nipple.

Butters throws his arm over his face and pants. He’s about ready to start begging for it, his hips twitching against his will.

Kenny takes Butters’ tit into the wet warmth of his mouth, suckling and nipping. Butters sees stars, his vision a kaleidoscope of white and pink pleasure. Heat licks up his spine, courses through his veins, and sets his body on fire. He clings desperately to Kenny’s shoulders—because Kenny is the only thing grounding him to this earth—and comes, staining the cotton fabric of his boxers.

It takes Butters awhile to regain his breath and return to a steady frame of mind, devastated by the strength of his orgasm. All the while Kenny kisses his eyelids, rubs his back, and wipes tears from the corner of Butters’ eyes. He hadn’t even realized he’d been crying.

“Jesus, you’re perfect,” Kenny says in awe.  He rests his body on top of Butters, his cheek pillowed on Butters’ soft breasts. His weight, unlike Eric’s, doesn’t feel like a prison. Kenny snorts, the noise tickling Butters’ skin. “I could probably come just from watching you come again. You make some pretty little sounds and you’ve got a hell of a nice ‘O’ face, Stotch.”

Butters blinks rapidly, running a hand through Kenny’s hair. He can feel Kenny’s erection pressed against his thigh. When they first started dating, Eric hated every sound Butters made while they fucked. He was also furious if Butters came before he did. It’s Eric pleasure first, always. “I should’ve let you come first.”

“Fuck, no. I liked watching you.”

“You c-can fuck me, now. If you still wanna,” Butters murmurs quietly, avoiding Kenny’s eyes.

Kenny groans, pressing their foreheads together. “I do. I just don’t want to do anything you’re not ready or comfortable to do.”

“Oh, Ken. I want it. I want it so bad. I have for a very long while,” Butters says, earnestly and needfully, beginning to squirm under and against Kenny body. He has since he was thirteen when he first realized what he felt for Kenny could no longer be defined as friendship.

Kenny thumbs Butters’ plump pink lips, “You let me know if you want me to stop and I will at any time.”

Butters can only nod, silenced by the kindness in Kenny’s reassurance. Kenny kneels, lifting Butters off the ground with ease. Butters wants to object, tell Kenny he’s too heavy but he doesn’t—if he tried to walk his legs probably wouldn’t support him anyway. He kisses Kenny’s stubbled jaw and wraps his legs around Kenny’s thin waist as Kenny carries him to his old bedroom.

…  
In the aftermath, Butters lays curled in the crook of Kenny’s arm, nestled safely—a fragile thing. He buries his nose in Kenny’s ribs, his fingers threaded in Kenny’s pale chest hair. Smoke hangs in the air around them, a cigarette perched in Kenny’s thin lips. Between exhales, he presses kisses to Butters’ shoulders and ears. Butters scrunches his nose at their acrid scent but relishes the happiness they bring him. 

Butters didn’t know sex could be this good. He doesn’t feel used, he feels worshipped. Kenny was patient with him, taking time to properly prepare him. Spreading Butters open with his thin long fingers and tongue. By the time Kenny slid into him, he was a drooling mess of want and pleasure, eagerly meeting Kenny’s every thrust with a sob.

Maybe he should feel guilty for cheating on Eric. However, Eric frequently cheated on him on business trips, showed Butters the evidence on his phone. Pictures of pretty blonde girls in his hotel bed. Sometimes even videos of Eric pounding into them. It always left Butters insecure, wondering what was wrong with him, why Eric’s attentions always strayed. But Kenny told him he was prettier than the girls on the faded posters on his childhood bedroom walls. If Kenny thought he was attractive enough, there must be something wrong with Eric.

Kenny snuffs his cigarette out on the windowsill, sitting up. The old mattress squeaks, a spring poking Butters’ back. “You wanna go out and get lunch?”

He really would love to, but it was too high a risk. Someone Eric knows might see him. “Maybe we could order in?”

“Even better. Pizza?”

“Yes, please,” Butters grins, squirming onto Kenny’s lap.

Kenny drapes his arms over Butters’ shoulders, “What kind?”

Eric never allowed him greasy food like pizza, even if he did, he’d never allow Butters to pick the toppings. The options to choose is freeing, a spark in Butters’ mind. He plants a wet kiss on Kenny’s mouth. “Hawaiian with broccoli.”

“Hawaiian with broccoli?” Kenny questions, quirking brow, obviously uncertain about the combination of flavors.

“It’s real good, I promise,” Butters pouts.

“Alright, Hawaiian with broccoli it is,” Kenny kisses Butters’ temple, standing with a stretch. Butters curls back into the pile of tangled blankets a flush painting his nose pink as he watches Kenny dress from the corner of his eye. Kenny’s body is beautiful. Perfect like the night sky. Freckles dotting his shoulders like stars, little white scars lining his back like comets. Butters wonders where they came from and how badly they hurt. He doesn’t ask.

“You gonna eat pizza naked? Because I don’t have a problem with that,” Kenny jokes, giving Butters’ plump ass a playful pinch.

Butters giggles, hiding his face in the blankets. “I’m gonna get dressed.”

“It sure doesn’t look like it,” Kenny says, rolling Butters over to kiss his chubby belly.  Butters smiles, his first honest smile in ten years. He loves the way Kenny praises every inch of him, fills Butters’ lungs with his own breath, his heart with buoyant daydreams. “You can shower, if you want.”

“I think I will,” Butters sighs.

“You want a pair of fresh underwear?” Kenny asks, picking up Butters’ boxers from the edge of the bed.

“I’ll go commando,” Butters says, frowning at his dirty boxers, “Y-you can keep those.”

“Thanks, babe,” Kenny laughs, holding them up to his cheek, “I’ll cherish them forever.”

Secretly, Butters hopes he does.

…

Once he’s alone in the shower beneath the steady warm spray of water—the bliss of his orgasm fading—the reality of what happened begins to sink in. He snuck out of Eric’s apartment and slept with another man. Maybe Eric will notice something different in Butters eyes, something off in his posture. Something that says, _‘I left the house and let another man fuck me.’_

Eric is very possessive. Butters can see Eric’s angry brown eyes, his furious glare a knife. He can hear Eric’s voice, it’s booming volume shaking his knees. He can feel Eric’s fist making contact with his chin, the taste of blood coating his tongue like wax.

Butters grips the plastic shower curtain to stay grounded in the present. Regret weighing heavily on his shoulders.

He shouldn’t feel regret for the tender way Kenny held him.

As longs as he washes away the musk of sex and the stink of tobacco from his body, there is no way Eric will ever find out. Although he doesn’t really believe his own reassurance.

He soaps up a washcloth—grateful Kenny’s mom uses the same soap as him—and wipes slick lube from his inner thighs.

…

When Butters walks into the living room twenty minutes later, the pizza is already on the coffee table. Kenny sits reclined on the couch, phone in his hand as he scrolls through Facebook. He looks up when he hears Butters, a grin on his handsome face, “You ready to eat?”

Butters nods, shimming onto the couch, snuggling up to Kenny’s side. He’s not really hungry anymore, his nerves upsetting his stomach—it gurgles angrily at the thought of food. But Kenny bought him pizza, even let Butters choose the toppings, he can’t not eat it.

Kenny opens the pizza box, the normally enticing smell of baked crust and cheese causing Butters’ stomach to roll. Unwilling to be rude and ungrateful, when Kenny holds out a slice for Butters, he accepts, taking a small bite. At first he thinks he’ll be able to eat it, the sweet taste of pineapple pleasant on his tongue but when he swallows, his body rejects it. He gags, bile filling his mouth.

He darts into the kitchen, coughing up what little content is in his stomach into the sink. Kenny is right behind him, rubbing Butters’ back and humming softly as Butters continues to dry heave.

Kenny hands Butters an uncapped bottle of water once he’s finished. Butters takes it and swishes his mouth out clean, a sour tastes still clinging to the roof of his mouth.

“You all right?” Kenny asks, lips pinched thin with worry. He runs his knuckles over Butters’ clammy cheeks and forehead.

Ashamed Butters only nods. He’s a terrible person ruining Kenny’s dinner like this. But he worked himself into such a state of anxiety he made himself physically ill. He can’t stop fretting, his thoughts like a sharped edge tornado, slicing up the inside of his skull. Circling violently around and around, an unbroken rhythm of negativity.  How badly would Eric beat him if he found out about tonight? Was it a mistake to meet with Kenny today? Even though it was one of the happiest moments in Butters recent memory. Kenny is leaving in a few days and Butters will be back with Eric again. Back under his thumb and cruelty. Kenny will be back in Maine helping people.

Today only provided Butters with a false sense of security and hope. In a few months his time with Kenny will be a pretty little dream. Maybe it will give Butters strength or be his downfall. Even though it panicked Butters, he at least kissed—more than kissed—Kenny. It means the world to him, no matter the consequences it may bring.

“I gotta get home,” Butters says as Kenny envelopes him with his arms, resting his chin on the top of Butters’ fine blonde hair. Butters wishes he could stay in Kenny’s arms forever.

“You wanna ride?” Kenny asks, nosing Butters’ earlobe.

“No. I’ll walk.”

Kenny looks like he wants to protest and insist Butters get in his car. He doesn’t. “I’m going to visit my sister tomorrow, you can come if you want. Just give me a call tomorrow before twelve.”

Butters’ heart lurches, knowing the risks sneaking out a second day could bring. But seeing Kenny again is worth it. Standing on his tiptoes he presses his lips to Kenny’s. He catalogues the taste of Kenny’s mouth, each crevice and contour. He doesn’t know how many more times he’ll get to. Kenny kisses him back, not caring that Butters tastes like vomit. It helps solidify Butters’ belief that Kenny is the nicest man in the universe.

…  
His clothes still smell like Kenny and as much as Butters would love to leave them that way, he can’t. As soon as he gets home he tosses them in the washer, pulling on a fresh pair of sweats. He’s behind on his daily chores, so he starts scrubbing the floor and vacuuming the house at a rapid rate. By the time he’s finished he’s out of breath.

He starts dinner, pork chops with apple sauce and sweet potato fries. He makes the fries by hand, seasons them with a bit of cinnamon, salt, and paper. Eric used to love them, Butters is hoping they’ll at least make Eric easier to deal with. He washes the counters as he waits, dreamily thinking of the way Kenny moaned his name. If he made Kenny dinner, Butters is sure Kenny would love it. Even if the food is burnt, overcooked, and terrible. Kenny would tell him it tasted like heaven no matter what.

Butters pinches his hand, he can’t think about this—it will never happen.

When Eric gets home, Butters helps him with his coat and shoes as he always, fearing Eric will notice something off or different about him. He doesn’t. Butters lets out a silent sigh of relief as Eric sits down on the couch and turns on the TV.

Dinner goes as it always goes, Butters picking at his food and Eric complaining—even though he always clears his whole plate.

Even though he showered at Kenny’s, he showers again. It’s his daily routine and if he didn’t Eric might suspect something. He bites his lip as he towel dries, dreading the thought of Eric coming into bed tonight. He hates the way Eric treats him, realizes it even more after the day with Kenny. But if he were to speak up and tell Eric he treats him like a slave, he’d end up with a broken rib again.

He climbs into bed, pulls the covers up over his head, wanting to disappear. He falls asleep with his nails digging crescent shaped bruises into his palms.

When he wakes, the bed is empty, and the blinking red numbers on their nightstand clock read 2:41 am. He stands and stretches, walking into the living room.

He finds Eric asleep on the couch, nine beer cans scattered on the living room floor. Butters picks them up and places them in recycling. If he wakes Eric up Eric might be livid. If he lets Eric sleep on the couch Eric might be angered by this too. In either scenario Butters loses. He pulls an extra blanket out of the closet and tucks in around Eric’s large body.

He climbs back into bed, grateful that he doesn’t have to deal with Eric fucking him tonight. Right now he’s Kenny’s and Butters wants to remain that way a little while longer.

“Why the hell didn’t you wake me?”

Butters cracks his eyes open, his vision taking a moment to clear, mind still fogged with sleep. Eric’s angry face comes into focus, soft yellow light filtering in through the curtains, kissing his round cheeks and nose. If Eric was in a better mood Butters might run his fingers over Eric’s sun stained skin but attempting such an act now would be like shoving his hand in a lion’s mouth.

“I tried b-but you were fast asleep,” It’s a lie. He’s done a lot of lying in the past day.

Eric’s palm connects with Butters’ cheek, the sound reverberating through the room. Butters’ ears ringing with it. His eyes sting, tears threatening to escape his lashes.  To cry is to show Eric weakness and he’s learned showing Eric weakness earns him further cruelty.

“I’m sorry, Eric,” Butters says, clutching his throbbing cheek. The only way to pacify Eric is to apologize for something he has no fault in. It’s always been that way.

“You fucking should be,” Eric smiles, pulling the blankets and thick quilts from Butters’ naked body. Chilly morning air rushes over Butters’ skin, he shivers.

He hates the way Eric looks at him, like he’s a meal to be sliced apart and devoured with sharp edged teeth. His eyes hungrily dissecting Butters’ every flaw. Plotting which ways he’ll take Butters. Ways that will bring Eric great pleasure. Ways Butters will most likely find unpleasant.  He doesn’t want it anymore. Maybe he never has. Back when Eric first fucked him, Butters let him because he needed someone to hold him and he didn’t want to feel alone.  But Eric has done nothing but make him feel alone.

Eric unbuttons his pants and pulls out his half hard dick.

Butters can’t do this. His stomach turns as Eric spits in his hand.

“Eric—“

“What the hell do you want?” Eric pauses, his spit slick fingers pressing into Butters.

Butters tenses against the intrusion, his fingers digging into the mattress. If he tells Eric he isn’t in the mood he’ll only hit him harder. And fuck him anyway.  Leaving Butters pained and shamed. Every part of him wants to scream, fight, kick, punch, and wail. But instead he forces a smile and softly says, “I’m s-so ready for you.”

Eric’s eyes light up, his lips split in a grin, reminding Butters of a vicious lion. He feels very much like a mouse beneath a lion’s sharp claws.

He stares up at the ceiling as Eric pushes into him.

…

When Eric leaves, he turns on the shower and scrubs Eric from his skin. The hot stream of water hides his tears.

…

It’s easier sneaking out the second day, the anxiety he feels less crushing. Eric didn’t catch him yesterday, as long as he’s careful Eric won’t catch him today. He darts outside giddy with anticipation and uncertainty. As much as he’d like to avoid the long detour to the gas station payphone, Kenny said he wanted him to call. Butters doesn’t want to be rude. By the time he walks to the gas station and heads to Kenny’s house he’s out of breath. The sides of his sweater damp with sweat.

He gives his armpit a sniff to make sure he doesn’t smell and knocks on the door.

Kenny answers with a handsome smile, a jacket slung over his arm. He leans over and kisses Butters’ cheek before pulling away. Butters yearns to get on his knees and suck Kenny’s dick like it’s candy. But he resists the urge, Kenny is going to see his sisters and he can’t make him late. 

“You ready to go? Or do you need to step in to use the bathroom?”

“Oh n-no! We can go!”

He follows Kenny to his old truck, the vehicle slightly rusted but in otherwise good condition. The step up into the truck is a high one, so Kenny helps lift him. Butters kisses Kenny’s forehead, always stunned by his gentleness.  He will miss it greatly when Kenny’s gone, when he’s left with the isolating brutality of Eric’s fury. Tears burn his eyes, he fights them back.

He shakes his head to clear his thoughts. He won’t think anything negative today. Kenny’s leaving tomorrow and his day with Kenny has to be the happiest. He scoots into the middle seat, legs on either side of the stick shift, as close to Kenny as the car will allow. His side flush against Kenny’s, Kenny’s ribs expanding against his own. His presence the warm summer sun and Butters is going to soak up as much of it as he can.

Kenny shifts the car in reverse, his arm brushing Butters’ soft inner thigh. Pleasure jolts through his stomach, he sighs, resting his head on Kenny’s shoulder. Kenny drapes his arm around Butters’ neck as he backs out of the driveway.

Butters threads their fingers together, this shouldn’t feel so good.

“You still knit?” Kenny asks, after they’ve been driving in silence for a few minutes.

The question startles Butters. When he was eleven his mother taught him to knit. It was something she had always done, carefully crafting his warm winter mittens and his father’s winter caps. As a child (and even at his present age) Butters struggled with nervous energy barely under his control. One of the many counselors Stephen took him to suggested Butters take up his mother’s hobby as a way to focus and distract himself. Hesitant at first to pick the needles and yarn Butters gave in under his parent’s pressure. Surprisingly he found he enjoyed it even though his first attempts at knitting produced a lumpy and lopsided quilt. And although the guys at school teased him relentlessly—as they did with everything—Butters didn’t care. During his mothers’ Sunday knitting circle, surrounded by kind old ladies who smelled a little too much like cats and lilies, he was at peace.

“It’s been years since I last k-knit something.”

The truck’s tires hum quietly against the pavement.

Eric didn’t allow him kindnesses like hobbies, Butters spending time on himself meant he had less time to spend on Eric. His fingers itch to pick up yarn again, sorrow and anger stinging his chest. Disheartened that Eric had denied him something he enjoyed for so long. Furious that he allowed Eric to.

Kenny squeezes his hand as if sensing Butters’ sudden change in mood. “I still have that scarf you knit me for my sixteenth birthday. I wear it every winter.”

“R-really?” Butters blubbers, hiding his face in the crook of his elbow. No one ever appreciated his gifts. Sometimes his parents smiled when he gave them presents but he found them in the trash a week later. In Eric’s case he told Butters his gifts meant nothing, smashed them to pieces before Butters’ eyes. Leaving Butters feeling much like the shattered CDS and broken DVDS Eric destroyed. But Kenny, perfect Kenny. His angel, prince, and knight in shining armor held onto Butters’ gifts for so long. He makes Butters feel like he’s worth something, as important as the scarf Kenny kept for all these years.

“Shit! Dude, I didn’t mean to make you cry!” Kenny prickles. He turns the wheel, pulling off the side of road. The brakes screeching as the truck comes to a halt.

“I-It’s alright, Ken. They ain’t sad tears. I’m just real happy,” Butters reassures, blotting his eyes with the sleeve of his sweater.

Kenny frowns, unbuckling his seat belt. He leans over unbuckling Butters and pulling him onto his lap. Butters squirms uncomfortably, afraid his plump body will cut off circulation to Kenny’s thin legs.

“Babe, if you don’t stop moving you’re gonna give me a hard on,” Butters stops instantly, nose pink and face hot. Kenny wraps his arms securely around Butters’ waist, presses his face into the curve of Butters’ breasts.  His words muffled, the tremor of each syllable vibrating through Butters’ chest. “I’m such an asshole. All you ever did was take care of me, you let me copy your homework, eat half your lunch, and you knit me scarves. And I left without saying goodbye.”

“Oh g-geez, Ken! Don’t get yourself all worked up over that. It’s all done and over now,” Butters says, sweetly, patting the top of Kenny’s head. Although it doesn’t really feel over. When Kenny left it was like a story missing the last twenty pages, he never got to know if there was a happy ending.

Kenny lifts his head, sighing, “It’s not. I tried getting back in contact with you but by then no one knew where you were. Karen said she hadn’t seen you in years, so did Stan and Kyle. I even tried calling your parents but they hung up on me as soon as I mentioned your name.”

It’s upsetting knowing his parents couldn’t even bear to hear his name. Even though Butters wishes it wasn’t. As much as he’s tried to convince himself he doesn’t need his parents or their love, if they’d offer him an apology he’d gladly accept it. “It’s fine, Ken, I promise.”

 Kenny looks doubtful, a frown on his persistent face. “I even tried finding you on Facebook, tried checking every few months to see if you made an account but you never did. I just wanted to talk to you again.”

Eric didn’t allow him to use the computer, it’d give Butters a chance to reach out for help. Butters clenches his fists. He’s done thinking about Eric and all these sorrow filled things. And Kenny better be too! He cups Kenny’s face between his small palms and says very sternly, “Kenny McCormick you better stop all this. If you need to hear me say I forgive you. Then I’ll say it, I forgive you. Ain’t no harm done. Y-you’re here now and that’s all that matters.”

Kenny’s eyes widen, his lips twitching into a grin. He kisses Butters’ palm, his stubble tickling Butters’ skin. “Jesus, after all these fucking years I’m still fucking in love with you.”

Butters’ heart swells against his ribs. Kenny McCormick is in love with him. **Kenny loves him!**

He presses his lips to Kenny’s, the world around him disappearing. Everything he knows becoming, Kenny. Kenny. _Kenny._

…

Karen lives five minutes from the old elementary school, in a small yellow house with pretty white trim. Butters thinks it looks like something out of a magazine.

“Golly, i-it’s real pretty,” He murmurs a Kenny helps him out of the truck.

“Yeah, her husband makes good money. Which is great for Karen because she’s always liked nice things.”

Before they even reach the front steps, the door opens, a chubby girl with light brown hair bounces gleefully across the yard and up into Kenny’s arms. Kenny lifts her easily, setting her on his hip. She giggles, hugging him tightly. “You’re late, Uncle Kenny.” 

“I’m always late,” Kenny laughs, lifting the girl above his head. She squeaks loudly and gladly, her pigtails brushing Kenny’s nose.

Butters watches them silently. Kenny would be a good doting father, making sure his child had a better life than he did. Always kissing their cheeks, telling them stories until they fell asleep, and spoiling them with lots of gifts. 

“Whose he?” The young girls ask, pointing at Butters’ as she hangs from Kenny’s broad shoulder.

Ken laughs, facing Butters. He gives Butters a cheeky wink, one that makes Butters feel naughty in the best way possible. “That would be Butters. He’s a very _special_ friend.”

Butters bumps his knuckles together, scuffing his heel against the stone walk way. There isn’t really a better way to put it. They aren’t exactly boyfriends, even though they did just spend five minutes making out in Kenny’s car while they confessed their love for each other.

“H-hiya, d-darling,” Butters says shyly in greeting. He wiggles his fingers in a small wave.

“My name’s Kayla. You talk funny,” She remarks very earnestly, eyeing Butters’ with mild interest.

Butters sighs, Eric hates his stutter and his voice too. He says Butters sounds like a retarded hick.

“Hey you, don’t be rude! I think he sounds cute!” Kenny reprimands, smacking Kayla’s bottom. She squeaks. “Extremely cute!” Kenny adds for emphasis, blowing Butters a kiss.

Butters bites his lip and hides his face behind his hands to contain his happiness. Kenny is just the kindest darn person he’s ever met.

“You’re disgusting,” Kayla groans, rolling her eyes with annoyance.

“Butters Stotch!” Karen shouts, poking her head out the door. “Kenny said you were coming but I didn’t believe him! I thought he was pulling an asshole joke.”

“I would never!” Kenny says with mock disdain. He walks towards Karen, kissing her on the forehead as he sets the small girl down. Butters follows him into the house, carefully shutting the door behind him. The house is just as pretty inside, floors wooden and walls covered in a soft floral motif. The aroma of homemade cookies and honey cooked ham pleasantly filling the air. It’s the exact sort of place Butters would love to live in—nothing like the cold and uninviting apartment Eric owned.

Karen huffs, blowing her bangs off her forehead, “Oh, go away you!” She brushes Kenny aside, pulling Butters into her arms. Her rather hefty chest flattened against Butters’. 

Like Kenny she’s filled out in the last ten years, no longer the skinny hungry girl she was. She’s all curves, healthy, tall and plump. Butters gladly accepts her hug, touched she is so easily accepting of him. She saw him at his worst, when he came to the McCormick’s door, eyes red and voice hoarse from tears, wondering if there was any news of Kenny. She laughs, cupping Butters’ round cheeks, tears in her hazel eyes. She kisses Butters’ face repeatedly only in the way a loving mother could. Butters laughs, unsure of how to react to her attentions.

“When you started dating Cartman you disappeared! I thought maybe he killed you. Please tell me you’re not still with him?”

Butters pales, stomach dropping at the sound of Eric’s name.  He stumbles for words, too embarrassed by the truth.

His silence is incriminating. Karen pulls away, her pink lips opened with surprise. “Oh my god. You are! Butters he’s kept you away from people this long, you need to get away from him!”

“You didn’t tell me he disappeared with Cartman,” Kenny says accusingly, eyes narrowed in Karen’s direction.

“You didn’t ask!” Karen hisses. “And you left so it’s none of your fucking business!”

“Would you stop bringing that up?! I’m not dad or Kevin! Yeah I fucking left but at least I came back!”

“Big fucking deal!” Karen growls, pointing a finger at Butters.  “You’re an ass. Did you know he came to our house for weeks asking for you? You broke his heart!”

Butters wants to hide, humiliated. “P-please, stop arguing. If it’s m-my fault I can leave.”

Both Karen and Kenny quickly stop yelling, a guilty look at their faces.

“Can I talk to you in private?” Kenny asks, squeezing Butters’ shoulder. Butters doesn’t know if it’s in disappointment or support.

“Alright,” Butters gasps, struggling to take a breath. It’s taking his every bit of strength to keep from breaking down. He’s naked. Exposed. Vulnerable.

Kenny guides him down a small hall and into a bathroom. He shuts the door behind them and turns on the light. It flickers before filling the room with soft white light. Butters is sure his world is about to end.

“Cartman’s the boyfriend who bit your neck?”

Butters nods, throat dry. He can’t meet Kenny’s eyes. He studies the lace shower curtain, the elaborate detail of butterflies and flowers woven through it. 

Kenny lowers his eyes, voice calm. There’s barely restrained anger behind his concern. It frightens Butter. He’s not afraid Kenny will physically hurt him. Kenny would never do that. But Kenny’s face is stern and red and he worries Kenny will yell at him a whole lot. Call him a disgusting fool for being with Eric. Butters knows he is. 

“And he did this to you too?” He thumbs Butters’ cheek, his lips turned down in a thoughtful frown.

Eric’s slap this morning left a livid red mark. Butters spent twenty minutes in front of the mirror trying to cover it up, using a vast array of concealers and foundation. Apparently his attempt at hiding his mistakes failed him. 

“Y-yes, he’s done a whole lot a terrible things.” Butters chokes, tears slipping free.  His chest feels like it’s been ripped open. Every part of him aching.  He winds his arms across his chest, in an attempt to keep himself together.

“I should fucking kill him for laying a hand on you! He doesn’t deserve you!” Kenny spits through gritted teeth, his jaw tight. His fingers curl in a fist, ready to punch and fight at the first sight of Eric’s face.  He’s furious, but not at Butters, all his judgment directed at Eric. He’d kill, bloody his hands, face jail time to defend Butters. If anything Butters doesn’t deserve Kenny.

 “K-killing Eric won’t do you any good,” Butters whimpers.

“But I’d sure make me feel better,” Kenny sighs. He strokes Butters’ hair. Butters leans into it, unable to quell his shaking. Kenny says, face serious, “When I leave tomorrow you’re coming with me.”

Butters blinks, unable to find words. He’s wanted a way out for such a long time. He’s wanted Kenny for such a long time, dreamed of a life with him. And here Kenny is, offering him all that. He yearns to wake up and see Kenny’s smiling face every morning. **He needs it** , like blood, oxygen, and water. He’d rather die than wake up to Eric’s dirty touch again. Butters sobs, the force of his tears blinding. “I’ll be nothing but a burden.”

Kenny tugs Butters into his arms, his grip strong, almost painful. But protective and shielding above all else. He kisses Butters’ ear, temple, the curve of his throat. Kenny murmurs, with great certainty. “No, you’ll be my everything.”

It sounds like something out of a cheesy eighties movie. But it’s perfect. Butters’ eyes burn. His heart screams. He slams their lips together. He’s light. Weightless. Euphoric. The taste of salt and tears and Kenny on his lips.

…

They leave Karen’s at three, after a delicious lunch of homemade pea soup and carrot cake. It’s comforting and joyous, not only because of Kenny’s and Karen’s smile—and Kayla’s sweet face—but also because Butters knows he’ll be leaving with Kenny soon. He only has one more night with Eric to get through and he’ll free.

They don’t speak on the drive home, although Kenny does kiss Butters deeply with each red light they stop at. By the time the reach Kenny’s drive way, Butters is hot, keening for more than just Kenny’s kiss.  He unbuckles their belts and tugs Kenny down on top of him.

They fuck on the seat of Kenny’s truck. The sound of their moans and the slap of skin on skin filling the vehicle.

It’s sloppy but they laugh through it. Kenny spills lube all over Butters’ stomach and the faded rug in his car. His thrusts are a little over zealous and as he fucks into Butters’ he accidently rams Butters head against the door. Although he quickly apologizes afterwards, his sweat dripping on Butters’ cheek as he checks Butters’ head for any sign of injury. Afterwards Kenny is gentler with each twitch of his hips. Butters slams his foot against the horn and whines as Kenny fucks him just so. The beep causing the neighborhood dogs to howl in opposition. Despite all its awkwardness…It’s wonderful. Even perfect, Butters thinks. 

“You should just spend the night,” Kenny groans once they’ve finished. He licks at Butters’ throat.

Butters rejects, although he’d truly like to. There isn’t much in Eric’s apartment that’s his but what is he’d like to collect. He still has a few childhood photos and an old teddy bear his aunt gave him when he had his tonsils out in seventh grade.

He kisses Kenny goodbye and heads home. It isn’t until he’s scrubbing his skin clean under the shower that he realizes Kenny’s enthusiasm left its mark. On the round curve of his left hip he sees the sharp imprint of Kenny’s squared nails.

He panics. His first instinct is to hide it from Eric. Body coursing with adrenaline and heart beating like a ticking bomb he dresses and darts into the kitchen. He stands on his tippy toes and reaches for a cast iron pan above the stove. The weight of the pan tugs at his arms. Acting out of desperation he pulls down the waist of his pants, raises the pan above his head, and closes his eyes.

With a flinch, he slams it against his hip. He screams, biting his lips to keep the neighbors from hearing. The pain is nauseating, knowing one hit will not be enough. He brings the pan down again and again, until he is sure his skin bruised and Kenny’s mark is hidden. By the time his finished, he’s collapsed on his knees, snot and spit running down his face in rivulets.

His legs quiver as he washes his face clean. It stings to take a step and he worries his hits caused a bone to fracture.

 He can only hope Eric will believe his lie.

…

When Eric gets home he helps remove his shoes as always, fingers fumbling with nerves as he tries to undo the laces.

“Will you hurry the fuck up?!” Eric huffs, nudging Butters’ head with the side of his foot.

Butters wants to scream at Eric’s ungratefulness, but he apologizes instead. He only has one more night. “I’m real sorry, Eric. I’m trying.”

“Try fucking harder.”

Butters pulls off Eric’s shoe with a scowl and starts working on his other foot. He places them neatly next to the door when he’s finished.

He winces as he walks to stir the noodles on the stove.

“Why are you limping?” Eric ask coldly, he walks slowly behind Butters. Stalking, a hunter. He’s not concerned like Kenny would be, most likely he’s morbidly curious.

Butters breathes in wetly, lungs filled with fear. He turns to face Eric, struggling to keep his shoulders straight. “I fell and hurt my hip while I was mopping the f-floor.”

Eric pulls down the hem of Butters’ pants. Butters hisses in protest. He wants to vomit as Eric inspects the wound, running his fat thumb over Butters’ hip.

“What are these?” Eric growls, clever eyes focusing on the small crescent shaped marks on Butters’ red and purple hip. He digs his fingers into the wound. Butters bites his tongue to keep from crying out.

 _Oh god_ , he’s in so much trouble.

Butters thinks of lying, telling Eric he scratched himself or Eric had left them the night before. But he doesn’t want to hide the truth anymore. There’s no use. There’s no way out of this. He’s sick of Eric bossing him around and acting like he’s his property. He’s wasted years of his life on Eric. Years without a _thank you_ or an _I love you_. Years without an _I’m sorry for what I did to you last night_. Years Eric made him fill guilty for something that wasn’t his fault. Years he could’ve been happy.

Butters stands tall, pushing a finger at Eric’s chest. Terrified but empowered. “I l-left the house and I let someone fuck me!”

Maybe it’s stupid, but it feels so good saying it.

He knows it’s coming before Eric even pulls back his arm. Eric’s fist connects with his jaw. He falls back, head hitting the edge of the counter. Blood pools at the base of his skull, fills his mouth with the clean taste of rust. He lands hard on the ground, spitting red on the spotless white tiles. He’s done being Eric good little doting housewife.

**He’s done.**

“You fucking cheated on me?” Eric grabs him by his shirt, pulls him forward so their faces are inches apart. A vein pulses in Eric’s throat, his breath hot and bitter on Butters’ lips. His face is red, lips curled back exposing his teeth, his thick brown brows drawn down over his eyes. Eric is animalistic and irrationally violent, it makes Butters want to drop all his strength, give up, apologize and admit he was wrong.  But he can’t. He won’t turn back now.

“You cheat on me all the time with dirty skanks! I slept with s-someone I love!! I ain’t yours Eric! I ain’t your toy to be kept in a box and played with at your whim.”

Eric stands. Butters curls onto his side covering his head, knowing whatever happens next is going to hurt. Eric kicks him hard in the ribs, knocking the breath from Butters’ lungs. He wheezes in pain, the room around him spinning.

“Your fucking mine, you little slut! You understand that?”

“I’m not!”

He’s going to die, he’s sure of it. But it’s worth it to have Eric know he doesn’t belong to him. At least he let Eric know he couldn’t control him. And he got to touch Kenny, know what tenderness one human could possess. Understand what it was like to be loved and cherished. No matter how drawn out and torturous Eric makes his death, Butters thinks he can die happy with thoughts of Kenny’s smile on his mind. His only regret is leaving Kenny waiting for him, thinking Butters didn’t want to come.

Eric wrenches him by his shoulders, slams Butters’ head on the ground, slams his fist against Butters’ nose.

Butters blacks out.

Butters rolls over with a whimper, cracking open his swollen eyes. It’s morning, the clock on the kitchen wall reading 10:30 am. He was unconscious all night. He reaches for the kitchen counter, pulling himself to his feet, each movement filled with pain. His legs quiver as he walks to their bedroom, Eric’s dried cum rubbing between them. Eric always got rowdy when he hurt Butters and it’s no surprise while Butters was unaware he did what he wanted to do with him. Normally when left home alone afterwards Butters would cry about it, carefully patching his wounds. But he can’t afford tears right now, he’s lucky to be alive. And he needs to get out of here as soon as he can.

Sometimes after a particularly harsh beating Eric would take the day off of work, run out to pick up a pack of beer and a hamburger at McDonalds and come right home. To enjoy the bruised and bloodied expression on Butters’ face, while he merrily drank and ate. Butters prays today is not one of those days.

It takes him a few tries to yank open his dresser drawer, his sore body wanting to give up. He groans when it finally pulls open.

His fingers twitch.

His stomach knots.

“No. No! NO!”

Instead of neatly folded clothes, he sees the empty wooden bottom of each drawer. Eric stole his clothes again. Butters knows Eric must be riddled with his own insecurities, always fearing Butters would leave him, so he did everything in his power to keep Butters hidden from the world. Before Kenny returned to South Park it probably would have stayed that way, but now he understands the imminent danger he’s in.

He swallows hard, crawling over to Eric’s dresser. Eric’s clothes will be big, but they’ll cover him enough to get to Kenny’s house. He struggles to tug on Eric’s t-shirt, wincing as the fabric slides over his bruised ribs. If he can even get to Kenny’s house in the condition he’s in.

 Having no clothes to pack he doesn’t bother grabbing a bag. Even his cosmetics are missing, he dreads walking down the streets, his bruises visible for everyone to see. He does scavenge the house for his teddy bear, a little panicked voice in the back of his mind telling him to move as quickly as possible, his body protests it.

He finds the bear in the living room, head ripped off and stuffing strewn like snow across the floor. No doubt destroyed in Eric’s rage, he yearned to destroy everything special to Butters—punishing him for even daring betrayal. Butters’ heart does drop seeing the torn fabric, but he picks up each piece, carefully placing them in the large pockets of Eric’s pants. He’s clever with a needle and he can always ask Kenny for a repair kit later.

As he walks out of the living room, he sees Eric’s dirty bowl of cereal on the coffee table—Eric too lazy to fix himself anything else for breakfast. He probably expects Butters to clean it, feel burdened and culpable as he scrubs it in the kitchen sink. Well, he won’t. Butters grabs it, thumb catching the corn flakes harden to the glass. He throws it against the wall, listening to it shatter and crack, the sharp sounds like the sweetest of melodies. Eric can clean up his own damn mess.

Limping into the kitchen, he opens the door, closing his eyes, fearing Eric is waiting there for him. After a moment, he peers into the hallway, finding it empty. Relieved, he carefully steps out, the carpet soft between his bare toes. Along with all his clothes, Eric stole his shoes too. Hopefully Kenny will have slippers small enough for him to wear.

He reaches the apartment complex door and bounds outside. As soon as the soles of his feet brush the rough cool sidewalk, he sprints. Terrified someone will stop him or Eric will pull up in his car. He runs, the world around him becoming a blur, a kaleidoscopes of blinding grays and greens and blues. He forces his way past people, their shoulders brushing his own. He hears a man call out, asking if he’s alright. He ignores them, knowing if he stops, they’ll call for help. Bring him to a hospital where Eric will surely find him.

He has to keep going.

His ribs ache with each breath his takes, fire filling his lungs. His legs threaten to give out with each step he takes, screaming for relief from his pain.

_He has to keep going._

He thinks of Kenny’s face, the freckles dusting his nose. How strong and sure his hands feel on Butters’ skin. How safe he feels in Kenny’s embrace.

Eric’s pants slip off his waist, he grips them tightly to keep from exposing his bottom. He runs faster and faster, crying out in agony every time his feet meet the pavement. By the time he spots the rail road tracks by Kenny’s home his face is stained with tears, sweat, and snot—every bit of him viscerally aching. The world around him spins like a nauseating amusement park ride, he sways with it. His vision faltering. He stumbles, foot catching on a piece of broken glass as he steps up the McCormick’s front steps, desperately slamming his fist against their wooden door.

He collapses against Carol McCormick’s chest as she opens it.

…

“Hey,”

He gasps, eyes shooting open, taking in his surrounding with great panic. He eases when he sees the familiarity of Kenny’s childhood bedroom, the muddled dusty yellow light hesitantly filtering through the dirty window. He whines, pressing his face into Kenny’s pillow, inhaling the scent of his cheap shampoo and cigarettes.

_He made it._

Kenny leans over him, running a finger across Butters’ bandaged cheek. His wounds slathered with antibiotic lotion and wrapped up with gauze by Kenny’s tender hand. His wonderful nurse Kenny took such great care of him. It burns, how deeply Butters loves and needs him.

“Ken,” He murmurs softly, noticing his clothes are changed too. His new shirt and pajama pants pink flannel. They’re a little tight around his waist but loose around his chest. Butters’ supposes they must be Carol’s. Kenny’s hips are so slim his pants would never fit over Butters plump curves. Despite the dread that still beats through his heart, happiness pulses with it, bright, vibrant and warm through his veins. He reaches out for Kenny, fingers curving around the base of his skull.

Kenny inches closer, hand braced on the side of Butters’ bruised hip.

“How are you feeling?” Kenny asks, brows taut and lips a thin pale line as brushes Butters’ bangs from his forehead.

“It hurts a lot,” Butters whispers, voice breaking. Not only speaking of the physical pain his body suffers, but the pain of his mind. He broke apart the wall Eric built around, fought everything Eric had instilled in him over the years. Although feeling invigorated, sparking with nervous excitement, he cannot help but feel plagued by a guilt he does not want. A nagging thought at the back of his mind chanting, _Eric needs you, Why did you leave him?_ He tries to keep reminding himself he doesn’t need Eric, that Eric is a toxicity leeching life from his soul. That he belongs with Kenny, because Kenny makes his heart feel like sunshine and his skin feel like a blooming flower garden. But the nagging remains.

“Oh, babe,” Kenny chokes, and it shocks Butters to see tears in Kenny’s eyes. Kenny has always been strong, through all of their years of high school. No matter the adversity and poverty his family faced, Butters had never seen him shed a tear. And here he is now shedding tears for Butters. Butters isn’t sure if he’s honored or uncomfortably saddened by it.

Kenny lies next to him, kissing Butters’ purple skin. “What happened?”

Butters would rather not think of that, his throat feeling tight as he remembers the swing of Eric’s fist.  “I don’t matter no m-more, Ken. It’s all done and over with.”

Kenny huffs angrily as Butters kisses and licks tears from his eyes. He rests a firm hand on the small of Butters’ back. “Where is he now?”

 “P-probably at work. But I don’t know where that is, Eric don’t tell me nothing.”

Kenny starts to rise, a determined look on his stern face. “I’m gonna fucking find him and break his god damn neck.”

Butters’ presses his face into Kenny’s lean leg. “Kenny please, don’t! W-we’ve already been through this, it’s not gonna do any g-good!” Kenny grumbles under his breath as Butters continue, his resolve wavering at the distress in Butters’ quiet voice. “I just wanna get out of here, I wanna leave South Park now before he finds me!!! I don’t wanna go back with him.”

“I wouldn’t let him take you back,” Kenny reassures. He rubs his neck, worried creases marring his forehead. “But are you sure you’re ready for a long car ride? You’re very badly hurt.”

“I don’t care!” Butters pleads, “I wanna go home. I wanna go home with you.”

…

Kenny packs up their car an hour later. Carol gives them both a tight goodbye hug, kissing Butters’ forehead multiple times as Kenny carries him to the truck. Kenny prickles, annoyed by her constant attention because she keeps stepping in front of him and blocking his path. But Butters soaks up every bit of maternal love, he’s been sorely missing it. As a child it wasn’t very prevalent in his life.

As they drive out of South Park, Butters rests his cheek against the passenger window. The coolness easing the throbbing of his face. He falls asleep against the car door.

…

When he wakes, it’s night time, the violet sky filled with sparkling stars. His head is aching, body stiff not only from Eric’s beating but the hours spent curled up in Kenny’s truck. The truck jolts as Kenny pulls into a parking lot, the blinking street lamps illuminating the tired circles beneath his eyes.

“Where are we?” Butters yawns.

“Hey sleepy head, you’re finally awake.” Kenny laughs, although it sounds false, laced with concern. He touches Butters’ downy hair, eliciting a sigh from Butters in response. “Stopping at a motel, I can’t make the trip in one drive”

“Ain’t they gonna be suspicious of my bruises!? And call the cops on you?” Butters frets, eyes wide.

“This place is sleazy enough, they won’t give a crap.”

“Are we gonna get robbed or murdered?” Butters peeps, panicked for another reason.

Kenny chuckles, earnestly this time. Pressing his lips against Butters’, whispering words into his mouth and down his throat. “Mysterion will protect you if they try.” And with great seriousness he adds, deepening the kiss, “I’ll always fucking protect you.”

Butters knows these words as true.

…

Their motel room reeks of sweat and unwashed linen, the mattress hard and the blankets they lay under suspiciously stained. Not that Butters overly minds, it’s far better than the harsh cleanliness of Eric’s apartment. He snuggles up to Kenny’s side, hand folded on his flat stomach, finding comfort in the steady rise and fall of Kenny’s chest. It’s a certain thing.

 Kenny clicks on the junky TV and flips through the channels, settling on an episode of Seinfeld. He strokes Butters’ thigh as he eats a vending machine sandwich that will probably make him sick in the morning. If it does, Butters will be there for him, to kiss his temple and wipe puke from his chin.

Butters closes his eyes and laughs at something stupid George says, the noise pinching his ribs, and spreading down the length of his spine. The force of his laugh quaking through him, bring tears to his eyes. Before he knows it he’s not just laughing about George’s terrible joke any more, he’s giggling and sobbing, snorting and crying—Kenny all the while eyeing him like a madman. **_BECAUSE HE’S FREE._**

_He’s free._

Eric is behind him, a horrifying anchor and reminder of his past. And Kenny, he’s before him, a kind and loving reminder of the future. A promise. Although they might not be perfect. And they’ll probably argue sometimes and later make up at night with tender words and soft touches. And Butters most likely will still feel sad, haunted, and alone sometimes, remembering what Eric did to him. He’ll always have Kenny to turn to and Kenny will listen and understand. Kenny will let him experience the whole world, let him swim, dance, sing and knit.  Because Kenny isn’t his gate keeper. No one is.

_He’s free._

He’s finally free.

…

 

 

 

 


End file.
